"I have a sister, Millicent, who is married to a man called Creake.She is about twenty-eight now and he is at least fifteen years older.Neither my mother (who has since died) nor I cared very much aboutCreake. We had nothing particular against him, except, perhaps, themoderate disparity of age, but none of us appeared to have anything incommon. He was a dark, taciturn man, and his moody silence froze upconversation. As a result, of course, we didn't see much of eachother."

"This, you must understand, was four or five years ago, Max,"interposed Mr. Carlyle officiously.

"Millicent married Creake after a very short engagement. It was afrightfully subdued wedding--more like a funeral to me. The manprofessed to have no relations and apparently he had scarcely anyfriends or business acquaintances. He was an agent for something orother and had an office off Holborn. I suppose he made a living out ofit then, although we knew practically nothing of his private affairs,but I gather that it has been going down since, and I suspect that forthe past few years they have been getting along almost entirely onMillicent's little income. You would like the particulars of that?"

"Please," assented Carrados.

"When our father died about seven years ago, he left three thousandpounds. It was invested in Canadian stock and brought in a little overa hundred a year. By his will my mother was to have the income of thatfor life and on her death it was to pass to Millicent, subject to thepayment of a lump sum of five hundred pounds to me. But my fatherprivately suggested to me that if I should have no particular use forthe money at the time, he would propose my letting Millicent have theincome of it until I did want it, as she would not be particularlywell off. You see, Mr. Carrados, a great deal more had been spent onmy education and advancement than on her; I had my pay, and, ofcourse, I could look out for myself better than a girl could."

"Quite so," agreed Carrados.

"Therefore I did nothing about that," continued the lieutenant. "Threeyears ago I was over again but I did not see much of them. They wereliving in lodgings. That was the only time since the marriage that Ihave seen them until last week. In the meanwhile our mother had diedand Millicent had been receiving her income. She wrote me severalletters at the time. Otherwise we did not correspond much, but about ayear ago she sent me their new address--Brookbend Cottage, MullingCommon--a house that they had taken. When I got two months' leave Iinvited myself there as a matter of course, fully expecting to staymost of my time with them, but I made an excuse to get away after aweek. The place was dismal and unendurable, the whole life andatmosphere indescribably depressing." He looked round with an instinctof caution, leaned forward earnestly, and dropped his voice. "Mr.Carrados, it is my absolute conviction that Creake is only waiting fora favourable opportunity to murder Millicent."

"Go on," said Carrados quietly. "A week of the depressing surroundingsof Brookbend Cottage would not alone convince you of that, Mr.Hollyer."

"I am not so sure," declared Hollyer doubtfully. "There was a feelingof suspicion and--before me--polite hatred that would have gone a goodway towards it. All the same there _was_ something more definite.Millicent told me this the day after I went there. There is no doubtthat a few months ago Creake deliberately planned to poison her withsome weed-killer. She told me the circumstances in a rather distressedmoment, but afterwards she refused to speak of it again--even weaklydenied it--and, as a matter of fact, it was with the greatest ofdifficulty that I could get her at any time to talk about her husbandor his affairs. The gist of it was that she had the strongestsuspicion that Creake doctored a bottle of stout which he expected shewould drink for her supper when she was alone. The weed-killer,properly labelled, but also in a beer bottle, was kept with othermiscellaneous liquids in the same cupboard as the beer but on a highshelf. When he found that it had miscarried he poured away themixture, washed out the bottle and put in the dregs from another.There is no doubt in my mind that if he had come back and foundMillicent dead or dying he would have contrived it to appear that shehad made a mistake in the dark and drunk some of the poison before shefound out."

"Yes," assented Carrados. "The open way; the safe way."

"You must understand that they live in a very small style, Mr.Carrados, and Millicent is almost entirely in the man's power. Theonly servant they have is a woman who comes in for a few hours everyday. The house is lonely and secluded. Creake is sometimes away fordays and nights at a time, and Millicent, either through pride orindifference, seems to have dropped off all her old friends and tohave made no others. He might poison her, bury the body in the garden,and be a thousand miles away before anyone began even to inquire abouther. What am I to do, Mr. Carrados?"

"He is less likely to try poison than some other means now," ponderedCarrados. "That having failed, his wife will always be on her guard.He may know, or at least suspect, that others know. No. ... Thecommon-sense precaution would be for your sister to leave the man, Mr.Hollyer. She will not?"

"No," admitted Hollyer, "she will not. I at once urged that." Theyoung man struggled with some hesitation for a moment and then blurtedout: "The fact is, Mr. Carrados, I don't understand Millicent. She isnot the girl she was. She hates Creake and treats him with a silentcontempt that eats into their lives like acid, and yet she is sojealous of him that she will let nothing short of death part them. Itis a horrible life they lead. I stood it for a week and I must say,much as I dislike my brother-in-law, that he has something to put upwith. If only he got into a passion like a man and killed her itwouldn't be altogether incomprehensible."

"That does not concern us," said Carrados. "In a game of this kind onehas to take sides and we have taken ours. It remains for us to seethat our side wins. You mentioned jealousy, Mr. Hollyer. Have you anyidea whether Mrs. Creake has real ground for it?"

"I should have told you that," replied Lieutenant Hollyer. "I happenedto strike up with a newspaper man whose office is in the same block asCreake's. When I mentioned the name he grinned. 'Creake,' he said,'oh, he's the man with the romantic typist, isn't he?' 'Well, he's mybrother-in-law,' I replied. 'What about the typist?' Then the chapshut up like a knife. 'No, no,' he said, 'I didn't know he wasmarried. I don't want to get mixed up in anything of that sort. I onlysaid that he had a typist. Well, what of that? So have we; so haseveryone.' There was nothing more to be got out of him, but the remarkand the grin meant--well, about as usual, Mr. Carrados."

Carrados turned to his friend.

"I suppose you know all about the typist by now, Louis?"

"We have had her under efficient observation, Max," replied Mr.Carlyle with severe dignity.

"Is she unmarried?"

"Yes; so far as ordinary repute goes, she is."

"That is all that is essential for the moment. Mr. Hollyer opens upthree excellent reasons why this man might wish to dispose of hiswife. If we accept the suggestion of poisoning--though we have only ajealous woman's suspicion for it--we add to the wish thedetermination. Well, we will go forward on that. Have you got aphotograph of Mr. Creake?"

The lieutenant took out his pocket-book.

"Mr. Carlyle asked me for one. Here is the best I could get."

Carrados rang the bell.

"This, Parkinson," he said, when the man appeared, "is a photograph ofa Mr. ---- What first name, by the way?"

"Austin," put in Hollyer, who was following everything with a boyishmixture of excitement and subdued importance.

"--of a Mr. Austin Creake. I may require you to recognize him."

Parkinson glanced at the print and returned it to his master's hand.

"May I inquire if it is a recent photograph of the gentleman, sir?" heasked.

"About six years ago," said the lieutenant, taking in this new actorin the drama with frank curiosity. "But he is very little changed."

"Thank you, sir. I will endeavour to remember Mr. Creake, sir."

Lieutenant Hollyer stood up as Parkinson left the room. The interviewseemed to be at an end.

"Oh, there's one other matter," he remarked. "I am afraid that I didrather an unfortunate thing while I was at Brookbend. It seemed to methat as all Millicent's money would probably pass into Creake's handssooner or later I might as well have my five hundred pounds, if onlyto help her with afterwards. So I broached the subject and said that Ishould like to have it now as I had an opportunity for investing."

"And you think?"

"It may possibly influence Creake to act sooner than he otherwisemight have done. He may have got possession of the principal even andfind it very awkward to replace it."

"So much the better. If your sister is going to be murdered it may aswell be done next week as next year so far as I am concerned. Excusemy brutality, Mr. Hollyer, but this is simply a case to me and Iregard it strategically. Now Mr. Carlyle's organization can look afterMrs. Creake for a few weeks, but it cannot look after her for ever. Byincreasing the immediate risk we diminish the permanent risk."

"Then we will give Mr. Creake every inducement and every opportunityto get to work. Where are you staying now?"

"Just now with some friends at St. Albans."

"That is too far." The inscrutable eyes retained their tranquil depthbut a new quality of quickening interest in the voice made Mr. Carlyleforget the weight and burden of his ruffled dignity. "Give me a fewminutes, please. The cigarettes are behind you, Mr. Hollyer." Theblind man walked to the window and seemed to look out over thecypress-shaded lawn. The lieutenant lit a cigarette and Mr. Carlylepicked up Punch. Then Carrados turned round again.

"You are prepared to put your own arrangements aside?" he demanded ofhis visitor.

"Certainly."

"Very well. I want you to go down now--straight from here--toBrookbend Cottage. Tell your sister that your leave is unexpectedlycut short and that you sail to-morrow."

"The _Martian_?'

"No, no; the _Martian_ doesn't sail. Look up the movements on your waythere and pick out a boat that does. Say you are transferred. Add thatyou expect to be away only two or three months and that you reallywant the five hundred pounds by the time of your return. Don't stay inthe house long, please."

"I understand, sir."

"St. Albans is too far. Make your excuse and get away from thereto-day. Put up somewhere in town, where you will be in reach of thetelephone. Let Mr. Carlyle and myself know where you are. Keep out ofCreake's way. I don't want actually to tie you down to the house, butwe may require your services. We will let you know at the first signof anything doing and if there is nothing to be done we must releaseyou."

"I don't mind that. Is there nothing more that I can do now?"

"Nothing. In going to Mr. Carlyle you have done the best thingpossible; you have put your sister into the care of the shrewdest manin London." Whereat the object of this quite unexpected eulogy foundhimself becoming covered with modest confusion.

"Well, Max?" remarked Mr. Carlyle tentatively when they were alone.

"Well, Louis?"

"Of course it wasn't worth while rubbing it in before young Hollyer,but, as a matter of fact, every single man carries the life of anyother man--only one, mind you--in his hands, do what you will."

"Provided he doesn't bungle," acquiesced Carrados.

"Quite so."

"And also that he is absolutely reckless of the consequences."

"Of course."

"Two rather large provisos. Creake is obviously susceptible to both.Have you seen him?"

"No. As I told you, I put a man on to report his habits in town. Then,two days ago, as the case seemed to promise some interest--for hecertainly is deeply involved with the typist, Max, and the thing mighttake a sensational turn at any time--I went down to Mulling Commonmyself. Although the house is lonely it is on the electric tram route.You know the sort of market garden rurality that about a dozen milesout of London offers--alternate bricks and cabbages. It was easyenough to get to know about Creake locally. He mixes with no onethere, goes into town at irregular times but generally every day, andis reputed to be devilish hard to get money out of. Finally I made theacquaintance of an old fellow who used to do a day's gardening atBrookbend occasionally. He has a cottage and a garden of his own witha greenhouse, and the business cost me the price of a pound oftomatoes."

"Was it--a profitable investment?"

"As tomatoes, yes; as information, no. The old fellow had the fataldisadvantage from our point of view of labouring under a grievance. Afew weeks ago Creake told him that he would not require him again ashe was going to do his own gardening in future."

"That is something, Louis."

"If only Creake was going to poison his wife with hyoscyamine and buryher, instead of blowing her up with a dynamite cartridge and claimingthat it came in among the coal."

"True, true. Still--"

"However, the chatty old soul had a simple explanation for everythingthat Creake did. Creake was mad. He had even seen him flying a kite inhis garden where it was found to get wrecked among the trees. A lad often would have known better, he declared. And certainly the kite didget wrecked, for I saw it hanging over the road myself. But that asane man should spend his time 'playing with a toy' was beyond him."

"A good many men have been flying kites of various kinds lately," saidCarrados. "Is he interested in aviation?"

"I dare say. He appears to have some knowledge of scientific subjects.Now what do you want me to do, Max?"

"Will you do it?"

"Implicitly--subject to the usual reservations."

"Keep your man on Creake in town and let me have his reports after youhave seen them. Lunch with me here now. 'Phone up to your office thatyou are detained on unpleasant business and then give the deservingParkinson an afternoon off by looking after me while we take a motorrun round Mulling Common. If we have time we might go on to Brighton,feed at the 'Ship,' and come back in the cool."

But, as it happened, Brighton did not figure in that day's itinerary.It had been Carrados's intention merely to pass Brookbend Cottage onthis occasion, relying on his highly developed faculties, aided by Mr.Carlyle's description, to inform him of the surroundings. A hundredyards before they reached the house he had given an order to hischauffeur to drop into the lowest speed and they were leisurelydrawing past when a discovery by Mr. Carlyle modified their plans.

"By Jupiter!" that gentleman suddenly exclaimed, "there's a board up,Max. The place is to be let."

Carrados picked up the tube again. A couple of sentences passed andthe car stopped by the roadside, a score of paces past the limit ofthe garden. Mr. Carlyle took out his notebook and wrote down theaddress of a firm of house agents.

"You might raise the bonnet and have a look at the engines, Harris,"said Carrados. "We want to be occupied here for a few minutes."

"Probably not for three months yet. All the same, Louis, we will go onto the agents and get a card to view whether we use it to-day or not."

A thick hedge, in its summer dress effectively screening the housebeyond from public view, lay between the garden and the road. Abovethe hedge showed an occasional shrub; at the corner nearest to the cara chestnut flourished. The wooden gate, once white, which they hadpassed, was grimed and rickety. The road itself was still theunpretentious country lane that the advent of the electric car hadfound it. When Carrados had taken in these details there seemed littleelse to notice. He was on the point of giving Harris the order to goon when his ear caught a trivial sound.

"Someone is coming out of the house, Louis," he warned his friend. "Itmay be Hollyer, but he ought to have gone by this time."

"I don't hear anyone," replied the other, but as he spoke a doorbanged noisily and Mr. Carlyle slipped into another seat and ensconcedhimself behind a copy of _The Globe_.

"Creake himself," he whispered across the car, as a man appeared atthe gate. "Hollyer was right; he is hardly changed. Waiting for a car,I suppose."

But a car very soon swung past them from the direction in which Mr.Creake was looking and it did not interest him. For a minute or twolonger he continued to look expectantly along the road. Then he walkedslowly up the drive back to the house.

"We will give him five or ten minutes," decided Carrados. "Harris isbehaving very naturally."

Before even the shorter period had run out they were repaid. Atelegraph-boy cycled leisurely along the road, and, leaving hismachine at the gate, went up to the cottage. Evidently there was noreply, for in less than a minute he was trundling past them backagain. Round the bend an approaching tram clanged its bell noisily,and, quickened by the warning sound, Mr. Creake again appeared, thistime with a small portmanteau in his hand. With a backward glance hehurried on towards the next stopping-place, and, boarding the car asit slackened down, he was carried out of their knowledge.

"Very convenient of Mr. Creake," remarked Carrados, with quietsatisfaction. "We will now get the order and go over the house in hisabsence. It might be useful to have a look at the wire as well."

"It might, Max," acquiesced Mr. Carlyle a little dryly. "But if it is,as it probably is in Creake's pocket, how do you propose to get it?"

"By going to the post office, Louis."

"Quite so. Have you ever tried to see a copy of a telegram addressedto someone else?"

"In one or two cases I have perhaps been an accessory to the act. Itis generally a matter either of extreme delicacy or considerableexpenditure."

"Then for Hollyer's sake we will hope for the former here." And Mr.Carlyle smiled darkly and hinted that he was content to wait for afriendly revenge.

A little later, having left the car at the beginning of the stragglingHigh Street, the two men called at the village post office. They hadalready visited the house agent and obtained an order to viewBrookbend Cottage, declining with some difficulty the clerk'spersistent offer to accompany them. The reason was soon forthcoming."As a matter of fact," explained the young man, "the present tenant isunder _our_ notice to leave."

"Unsatisfactory, eh?" said Carrados encouragingly.

"He's a corker," admitted the clerk, responding to the friendly tone."Fifteen months and not a doit of rent have we had. That's why Ishould have liked--"

"We will make every allowance," replied Carrados.

The post office occupied one side of a stationer's shop. It was notwithout some inward trepidation that Mr. Carlyle found himselfcommitted to the adventure. Carrados, on the other hand, was thepersonification of bland unconcern.

"You have just sent a telegram to Brookbend Cottage," he said to theyoung lady behind the brasswork lattice. "We think it may have comeinaccurately and should like a repeat." He took out his purse. "Whatis the fee?"

The request was evidently not a common one. "Oh," said the girluncertainly, "wait a minute, please." She turned to a pile of telegramduplicates behind the desk and ran a doubtful finger along the uppersheets. "I think this is all right. You want it repeated?"

"Please." Just a tinge of questioning surprise gave point to thecourteous tone.

"It will be fourpence. If there is an error the amount will berefunded."

Carrados put down his coin and received his change.

"Will it take long?" he inquired carelessly, as he pulled on hisglove.

"You will most likely get it within a quarter of an hour," shereplied.

"Now you've done it," commented Mr. Carlyle as they walked back totheir car. "How do you propose to get that telegram, Max?"

"Ask for it," was the laconic explanation.

And, stripping the artifice of any elaboration, he simply asked for itand got it. The car, posted at a convenient bend in the road, gave hima warning note as the telegraph-boy approached. Then Carrados took upa convincing attitude with his hand on the gate while Mr. Carlyle lenthimself to the semblance of a departing friend. That was theinevitable impression when the boy rode up.

"Creake, Brookbend Cottage?" inquired Carrados, holding out his hand,and without a second thought the boy gave him the envelope and rodeaway on the assurance that there would be no reply.

"Then my ingenuity must get me out again," was the retort. "Let ushave our 'view' now. The telegram can wait."

An untidy workwoman took their order and left them standing at thedoor. Presently a lady whom they both knew to be Mrs. Creake appeared.

"You wish to see over the house?" she said, in a voice that wasutterly devoid of any interest. Then, without waiting for a reply, sheturned to the nearest door and threw it open.

"This is the drawing-room," she said, standing aside.

They walked into a sparsely furnished, damp-smelling room and made apretence of looking round, while Mrs. Creake remained silent andaloof.

"The dining-room," she continued, crossing the narrow hall and openinganother door.

Mr. Carlyle ventured a genial commonplace in the hope of inducingconversation. The result was not encouraging. Doubtless they wouldhave gone through the house under the same frigid guidance had notCarrados been at fault in a way that Mr. Carlyle had never known himfail before. In crossing the hall he stumbled over a mat and almostfell.

"Pardon my clumsiness," he said to the lady. "I am, unfortunately,quite blind. But," he added, with a smile, to turn off the mishap,"even a blind man must have a house."

The man who had eyes was surprised to see a flood of colour rush intoMrs. Creake's face.

"Blind!" she exclaimed, "oh, I beg your pardon. Why did you not tellme? You might have fallen."

The house, without being large, was full of passages and inconvenientturnings. Carrados asked an occasional question and found Mrs. Creakequite amiable without effusion. Mr. Carlyle followed them from room toroom in the hope, though scarcely the expectation, of learningsomething that might be useful.

"This is the last one. It is the largest bedroom," said their guide.Only two of the upper rooms were fully furnished and Mr. Carlyle atonce saw, as Carrados knew without seeing, that this was the one whichthe Creakes occupied.

"A very pleasant outlook," declared Mr. Carlyle.

"Oh, I suppose so," admitted the lady vaguely. The room, in fact,looked over the leafy garden and the road beyond. It had a Frenchwindow opening on to a small balcony, and to this, under the strangeinfluence that always attracted him to light, Carrados walked.

"I expect that there is a certain amount of repair needed?" he said,after standing there a moment.

"I am afraid there would be," she confessed.

"I ask because there is a sheet of metal on the floor here," hecontinued. "Now that, in an old house, spells dry rot to the waryobserver."

"My husband said that the rain, which comes in a little under thewindow, was rotting the boards there," she replied. "He put that downrecently. I had not noticed anything myself."

It was the first time she had mentioned her husband; Mr. Carlylepricked up his ears.

"Ah, that is a less serious matter," said Carrados. "May I step out onto the balcony?"

"Oh yes, if you like to." Then, as he appeared to be fumbling at thecatch, "Let me open it for you."

But the window was already open, and Carrados, facing the variouspoints of the compass, took in the bearings.

"Sometimes, surely," he persisted mildly. "It would be my favouriteretreat. But then--"

"I was going to say that I had never even been out on it, but thatwould not be quite true. It has two uses for me, both equallyromantic; I occasionally shake a duster from it, and when my husbandreturns late without his latchkey he wakes me up and I come out hereand drop him mine."

Further revelation of Mr. Creake's nocturnal habits was cut off,greatly to Mr. Carlyle's annoyance, by a cough of unmistakablesignificance from the foot of the stairs. They had heard a trade cartdrive up to the gate, a knock at the door, and the heavy-footed womantramp along the hall.

"Excuse me a minute, please," said Mrs. Creake.

"Louis," said Carrados, in a sharp whisper, the moment they werealone, "stand against the door."

With extreme plausibility Mr. Carlyle began to admire a picture sosituated that while he was there it was impossible to open the doormore than a few inches. From that position he observed his confederatego through the curious procedure of kneeling down on the bedroom floorand for a full minute pressing his ear to the sheet of metal that hadalready engaged his attention. Then he rose to his feet, nodded,dusted his trousers, and Mr. Carlyle moved to a less equivocalposition.

"Is it?" she replied. "I think my husband was nailing it up recently."By some strange fatality Carrados's most aimless remarks seemed toinvolve the absent Mr. Creake. "Do you care to see the garden?"

The garden proved to be extensive and neglected. Behind the house waschiefly orchard. In front, some semblance of order had been kept up;here it was lawn and shrubbery, and the drive they had walked along.Two things interested Carrados: the soil at the foot of the balcony,which he declared on examination to be particularly suitable forroses, and the fine chestnut-tree in the corner by the road.

As they walked back to the car Mr. Carlyle lamented that they hadlearned so little of Creake's movements.

Mr. Carlyle cut open the envelope, glanced at the enclosure, and inspite of his disappointment could not restrain a chuckle.

"My poor Max," he explained, "you have put yourself to an amount ofingenious trouble for nothing. Creake is evidently taking a few days'holiday and prudently availed himself of the Meteorological Officeforecast before going. Listen: '_Immediate prospect for London warmand settled. Further outlook cooler but fine._' Well, well; I did geta pound of tomatoes for _my_ fourpence."

"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, looking at the words again, "by gad,that's rum, Max. They go to Weston-super-Mare. Why on earth should hewant to know about London?"

"I can make a guess, but before we are satisfied I must come hereagain. Take another look at that kite, Louis. Are there a few yards ofstring hanging loose from it?"

"Yes, there are."

"Rather thick string--unusually thick for the purpose?"

"Yes, but how do you know?"

As they drove home again Carrados explained, and Mr. Carlyle sataghast, saying incredulously: "Good God, Max, is it possible?"

An hour later he was satisfied that it was possible. In reply to hisinquiry someone in his office telephoned him the information that"they" had left Paddington by the four-thirty for Weston.

It was more than a week after his introduction to Carrados thatLieutenant Hollyer had a summons to present himself at The Turretsagain. He found Mr. Carlyle already there and the two friends wereawaiting his arrival.

"I stayed in all day after hearing from you this morning, Mr.Carrados," he said, shaking hands. "When I got your second message Iwas all ready to walk straight out of the house. That's how I did itin the time. I hope everything is all right?"

"Excellent," replied Carrados. "You'd better have something before westart. We probably have a long and perhaps an exciting night beforeus."

"And certainly a wet one," assented the lieutenant. "It was thunderingover Mulling way as I came along."

"That is why you are here," said his host. "We are waiting for acertain message before we start, and in the meantime you may as wellunderstand what we expect to happen. As you saw, there is athunderstorm coming on. The Meteorological Office morning forecastpredicted it for the whole of London if the conditions remained. Thatis why I kept you in readiness. Within an hour it is now inevitablethat we shall experience a deluge. Here and there damage will be doneto trees and buildings; here and there a person will probably bestruck and killed."

"Yes."

"It is Mr. Creake's intention that his wife should be among thevictims."

"I don't exactly follow," said Hollyer, looking from one man to theother. "I quite admit that Creake would be immensely relieved if sucha thing did happen, but the chance is surely an absurdly remote one."

"Yet unless we intervene it is precisely what a coroner's jury willdecide has happened. Do you know whether your brother-in-law has anypractical knowledge of electricity, Mr. Hollyer?"

"I cannot say. He was so reserved, and we really knew so little ofhim--"

"Yet in 1896 an Austin Creake contributed an article on 'AlternatingCurrents' to the American _Scientific World_. That would argue afairly intimate acquaintanceship."

"But do you mean that he is going to direct a flash of lightning?"

"Only into the minds of the doctor who conducts the post-mortem, andthe coroner. This storm, the opportunity for which he has been waitingfor weeks, is merely the cloak to his act. The weapon which he hasplanned to use--scarcely less powerful than lightning but much moretractable--is the high voltage current of electricity that flows alongthe tram wire at his gate."

"Some time between eleven o'clock to-night--about the hour when yoursister goes to bed--and one thirty in the morning--the time up towhich he can rely on the current--Creake will throw a stone up at thebalcony window. Most of his preparation has long been made; it onlyremains for him to connect up a short length to the window handle anda longer one at the other end to tap the live wire. That done, he willwake his wife in the way I have said. The moment she moves the catchof the window--and he has carefully filed its parts to ensure perfectcontact--she will be electrocuted as effectually as if she sat in theexecutioner's chair in Sing Sing prison."

"But what are we doing here!" exclaimed Hollyer, starting to his feet,pale and horrified. "It is past ten now and anything may happen."

"Quite natural, Mr. Hollyer," said Carrados reassuringly, "but youneed have no anxiety. Creake is being watched, the house is beingwatched, and your sister is as safe as if she slept to-night inWindsor Castle. Be assured that whatever happens he will not beallowed to complete his scheme; but it is desirable to let himimplicate himself to the fullest limit. Your brother-in-law, Mr.Hollyer, is a man with a peculiar capacity for taking pains."

"He is a damned cold-blooded scoundrel!" exclaimed the young officerfiercely. "When I think of Millicent five years ago--"

"Well, for that matter, an enlightened nation has decided thatelectrocution is the most humane way of removing its superfluouscitizens," suggested Carrados mildly. "He is certainly aningenious-minded gentleman. It is his misfortune that in Mr. Carlylehe was fated to be opposed by an even subtler brain--"

"No, no! Really, Max!" protested the embarrassed gentleman.

"Mr. Hollyer will be able to judge for himself when I tell him that itwas Mr. Carlyle who first drew attention to the significance of theabandoned kite," insisted Carrados firmly. "Then, of course, itsobject became plain to me--as indeed to anyone. For ten minutes,perhaps, a wire must be carried from the overhead line to thechestnut-tree. Creake has everything in his favour, but it is justwithin possibility that the driver of an inopportune train mightnotice the appendage. What of that? Why, for more than a week he hasseen a derelict kite with its yards of trailing string hanging in thetree. A very calculating mind, Mr. Hollyer. It would be interesting toknow what line of action Mr. Creake has mapped out for himselfafterwards. I expect he has half-a-dozen artistic little touches uphis sleeve. Possibly he would merely singe his wife's hair, burn herfeet with a red-hot poker, shiver the glass of the French window, andbe content with that to let well alone. You see, lightning is sovaried in its effects that whatever he did or did not do would beright. He is in the impregnable position of the body showing all thesymptoms of death by lightning shock and nothing else but lightning toaccount for it--a dilated eye, heart contracted in systole, bloodlesslungs shrunk to a third the normal weight, and all the rest of it.When he has removed a few outward traces of his work Creake mightquite safely 'discover' his dead wife and rush off for the nearestdoctor. Or he may have decided to arrange a convincing alibi, andcreep away, leaving the discovery to another. We shall never know; hewill make no confession."

"I wish it was well over," admitted Hollyer, "I'm not particularlyjumpy, but this gives me a touch of the creeps."

"Three more hours at the worst, lieutenant," said Carrados cheerfully."Ah-ha, something is coming through now."

He went to the telephone and received a message from one quarter; thenmade another connection and talked for a few minutes with someoneelse.

"Everything working smoothly," he remarked between times over hisshoulder. "Your sister has gone to bed, Mr. Hollyer."

Then he turned to the house telephone and distributed his orders.

"So we," he concluded, "must get up."

By the time they were ready a large closed motor car was waiting. Thelieutenant thought he recognised Parkinson in the well-swathed formbeside the driver, but there was no temptation to linger for a secondon the steps. Already the stinging rain had lashed the drive into thesemblance of a frothy estuary; all round the lightning jagged itscourse through the incessant tremulous glow of more distant lightning,while the thunder only ceased its muttering to turn at close quartersand crackle viciously.

"One of the few things I regret missing," remarked Carradostranquilly; "but I hear a good deal of colour in it."

The car slushed its way down to the gate, lurched a little heavilyacross the dip into the road, and, steadying as it came upon thestraight, began to hum contentedly along the deserted highway.

"We are not going direct?" suddenly inquired Hollyer, after they hadtravelled perhaps half-a-dozen miles. The night was bewildering enoughbut he had the sailor's gift for location.

"No; through Hunscott Green and then by a field-path to the orchard atthe back," replied Carrados. "Keep a sharp look out for the man withthe lantern about here, Harris," he called through the tube.

"Something flashing just ahead, sir," came the reply, and the carslowed down and stopped.

Carrados dropped the near window as a man in glistening waterproofstepped from the shelter of a lich-gate and approached.

"Inspector Beedel, sir," said the stranger, looking into the car.

"Quite right, Inspector," said Carrados. "Get in."

"I have a man with me, sir."

"We can find room for him as well."

"We are very wet."

"So shall we all be soon."

The lieutenant changed his seat and the two burly forms took placesside by side. In less than five minutes the car stopped again, thistime in a grassy country lane.

"Now we have to face it," announced Carrados. "The inspector will showus the way."

The car slid round and disappeared into the night, while Beedel ledthe party to a stile in the hedge. A couple of fields brought them tothe Brookbend boundary. There a figure stood out of the black foliage,exchanged a few words with their guide and piloted them along theshadows of the orchard to the back door of the house.

"You will find a broken pane near the catch of the scullery window,"said the blind man.

"Right, sir," replied the inspector. "I have it. Now who goesthrough?"

"Mr. Hollyer will open the door for us. I'm afraid you must take offyour boots and all wet things, Lieutenant. We cannot risk a singlespot inside."

They waited until the back door opened, then each one divested himselfin a similar manner and passed into the kitchen, where the remains ofa fire still burned. The man from the orchard gathered together thediscarded garments and disappeared again.

Carrados turned to the lieutenant.

"A rather delicate job for you now, Mr. Hollyer. I want you to go upto your sister, wake her, and get her into another room with as littlefuss as possible. Tell her as much as you think fit and let herunderstand that her very life depends on absolute stillness when sheis alone. Don't be unduly hurried, but not a glimmer of a light,please."

Ten minutes passed by the measure of the battered old alarum on thedresser shelf before the young man returned.

"I've had rather a time of it," he reported, with a nervous laugh,"but I think it will be all right now. She is in the spare room."

"Then we will take our places. You and Parkinson come with me to thebedroom. Inspector, you have your own arrangements. Mr. Carlyle willbe with you."

They dispersed silently about the house. Hollyer glancedapprehensively at the door of the spare room as they passed it, butwithin was as quiet as the grave. Their room lay at the other end ofthe passage.

"You may as well take your place in the bed now, Hollyer," directedCarrados when they were inside and the door closed. "Keep well downamong the clothes. Creake has to get up on the balcony, you know, andhe will probably peep through the window, but he dare come no farther.Then when he begins to throw up stones slip on this dressing-gown ofyour sister's. I'll tell you what to do after."

The next sixty minutes drew out into the longest hour that thelieutenant had ever known. Occasionally he heard a whisper passbetween the two men who stood behind the window curtains, but he couldsee nothing. Then Carrados threw a guarded remark in his direction.

"He is in the garden now."

Something scraped slightly against the outer wall. But the night wasfull of wilder sounds, and in the house the furniture and the boardscreaked and sprung between the yawling of the wind among the chimneys,the rattle of the thunder and the pelting of the rain. It was a timeto quicken the steadiest pulse, and when the crucial moment came, whena pebble suddenly rang against the pane with a sound that the tensewaiting magnified into a shivering crash, Hollyer leapt from the bedon the instant.

"Easy, easy," warned Carrados feelingly. "We will wait for anotherknock." He passed something across. "Here is a rubber glove. I havecut the wire but you had better put it on. Stand just for a moment atthe window, move the catch so that it can blow open a little, and dropimmediately. Now."

Another stone had rattled against the glass. For Hollyer to go throughhis part was the work merely of seconds, and with a few touchesCarrados spread the dressing-gown to more effective disguise about theextended form. But an unforeseen and in the circumstances ratherhorrible interval followed, for Creake, in accordance with some detailof his never-revealed plan, continued to shower missile after missileagainst the panes until even the unimpressionable Parkinson shivered.

"The last act," whispered Carrados, a moment after the throwing hadceased. "He has gone round to the back. Keep as you are. We take covernow." He pressed behind the arras of an extemporized wardrobe, and thespirit of emptiness and desolation seemed once more to reign over thelonely house.

From half-a-dozen places of concealment ears were straining to catchthe first guiding sound. He moved very stealthily, burdened, perhaps,by some strange scruple in the presence of the tragedy that he had notfeared to contrive, paused for a moment at the bedroom door, thenopened it very quietly, and in the fickle light read the consummationof his hopes.

"At last!" they heard the sharp whisper drawn from his relief. "Atlast!"

He took another step and two shadows seemed to fall upon him frombehind, one on either side. With primitive instinct a cry of terrorand surprise escaped him as he made a desperate movement to wrenchhimself free, and for a short second he almost succeeded in draggingone hand into a pocket. Then his wrists slowly came together and thehandcuffs closed.

"I am Inspector Beedel," said the man on his right side. "You arecharged with the attempted murder of your wife, Millicent Creake."

"You are mad," retorted the miserable creature, falling into adesperate calmness. "She has been struck by lightning."

"No, you blackguard, she hasn't," wrathfully exclaimed hisbrother-in-law, jumping up. "Would you like to see her?"

"I also have to warn you," continued the inspector impassively, "thatanything you say may be used as evidence against you."

A startled cry from the farther end of the passage arrested theirattention.

"Mr. Carrados," called Hollyer, "oh, come at once."

At the open door of the other bedroom stood the lieutenant, his eyesstill turned towards something in the room beyond, a little emptybottle in his hand.

"Dead!" he exclaimed tragically, with a sob, "with this beside her.Dead just when she would have been free of the brute."

The blind man passed into the room, sniffed the air, and laid a gentlehand on the pulseless heart.

"Yes," he replied. "That, Hollyer, does not always appeal to thewoman, strange to say."

THE LAST EXPLOIT OF HARRY THE ACTOR

The one insignificant fact upon which turned the following incident inthe joint experiences of Mr. Carlyle and Max Carrados was merely this:that having called upon his friend just at the moment when the privatedetective was on the point of leaving his office to go to the safedeposit in Lucas Street, Piccadilly, the blind amateur accompaniedhim, and for ten minutes amused himself by sitting quite quietly amongthe palms in the centre of the circular hall while Mr. Carlyle wasoccupied with his deed-box in one of the little compartments providedfor the purpose.

The Lucas Street depository was then (it has since been converted intoa picture palace) generally accepted as being one of the strongestplaces in London. The front of the building was constructed torepresent a gigantic safe door, and under the colloquial designationof "The Safe" the place had passed into a synonym for all that wassecure and impregnable. Half of the marketable securities in the westof London were popularly reported to have seen the inside of itscoffers at one time or another, together with the same generousproportion of family jewels. However exaggerated an estimate thismight be, the substratum of truth was solid and auriferous enough todazzle the imagination. When ordinary safes were being carried bodilyaway with impunity or ingeniously fused open by the scientificallyequipped cracksman, nervous bond-holders turned with relief to theattractions of an establishment whose modest claim was summed up inits telegraphic address: "Impregnable." To it went also the jewel-casebetween the lady's social engagements, and when in due course "thefamily" journeyed north--or south, east or west--whenever, in short,the London house was closed, its capacious storerooms received theplate-chest as an established custom. Not a few tradersalso--jewellers, financiers, dealers in pictures, antiques and costlybijouterie, for instance--constantly used its facilities for any stockthat they did not require immediately to hand.

There was only one entrance to the place, an exaggerated keyhole, tocarry out the similitude of the safe-door alluded to. The ground floorwas occupied by the ordinary offices of the company; all thestrong-rooms and safes lay in the steel-cased basement. This wasreached both by a lift and by a flight of steps. In either case thevisitor found before him a grille of massive proportions. Behind itsbars stood a formidable commissionaire who never left his post, hissole duty being to open and close the grille to arriving and departingclients. Beyond this, a short passage led into the round central hallwhere Carrados was waiting. From this part, other passages radiatedoff to the vaults and strong-rooms, each one barred from the hall by agrille scarcely less ponderous than the first one. The doors of thevarious private rooms put at the disposal of the company's clients,and that of the manager's office, filled the wall-space between theradiating passages. Everything was very quiet, everything looked verybright, and everything seemed hopelessly impregnable.

"Sorry to have kept you so long, my dear Max," broke in Mr. Carlyle'scrisp voice. He had emerged from his compartment and was crossing thehall, deed-box in hand. "Another minute and I will be with you."

Carrados smiled and nodded and resumed his former expression, whichwas merely that of an uninterested gentleman waiting patiently foranother. It is something of an attainment to watch closely withoutbetraying undue curiosity, but others of the senses--hearing andsmelling, for instance--can be keenly engaged while the observerpossibly has the appearance of falling asleep.

"Now," announced Mr. Carlyle, returning briskly to his friend's chair,and drawing on his grey suede gloves.

"You are in no particular hurry?"

"No," admitted the professional man, with the slowness of mildsurprise. "Not at all. What do you propose?"

"It is very pleasant here," replied Carrados tranquilly. "Very cooland restful with this armoured steel between us and the dust andscurry of the hot July afternoon above. I propose remaining here for afew minutes longer."

"Certainly," agreed Mr. Carlyle, taking the nearest chair and eyeingCarrados as though he had a shrewd suspicion of something more thanmet the ear. "I believe some very interesting people rent safes here.We may encounter a bishop, or a winning jockey, or even a musicalcomedy actress. Unfortunately it seems to be rather a slack time."

"Two men came down while you were in your cubicle," remarked Carradoscasually. "The first took the lift. I imagine that he was amiddle-aged, rather portly man. He carried a stick, wore a silk hat,and used spectacles for close sight. The other came by the stairway. Iinfer that he arrived at the top immediately after the lift had gone.He ran down the steps, so that the two were admitted at the same time,but the second man, though the more active of the pair, hung back fora moment in the passage and the portly one was the first to go to hissafe."

"When you emerged just now our second man quietly opened the door ofhis pen a fraction. Doubtless he looked out. Then he closed it asquietly again. You were not his man, Louis."

"I am grateful," said Mr. Carlyle expressively. "What next, Max?"

"That is all; they are still closeted."

Both were silent for a moment. Mr. Carlyle's feeling was one ofunconfessed perplexity. So far the incident was utterly trivial in hiseyes; but he knew that the trifles which appeared significant to Maxhad a way of standing out like signposts when the time came to lookback over an episode. Carrados's sightless faculties seemed indeed tokeep him just a move ahead as the game progressed.

"Is there really anything in it, Max?" he asked at length.

"Who can say?" replied Carrados. "At least we may wait to see them go.Those tin deed-boxes now. There is one to each safe, I think?"

"Yes, so I imagine. The practice is to carry the box to your privatelair and there unlock it and do your business. Then you lock it upagain and take it back to your safe."

"Steady! our first man," whispered Carrados hurriedly. "Here, look atthis with me." He opened a paper--a prospectus--which he pulled fromhis pocket, and they affected to study its contents together.

"You were about right, my friend," muttered Mr. Carlyle, pointing to aparagraph of assumed interest. "Hat, stick and spectacles. He is aclean-shaven, pink-faced old boy. I believe--yes, I know the man bysight. He is a bookmaker in a large way, I am told."

"Here comes the other," whispered Carrados.

The bookmaker passed across the hall, joined on his way by the managerwhose duty it was to counterlock the safe, and disappeared along oneof the passages. The second man sauntered up and down, waiting histurn. Mr. Carlyle reported his movements in an undertone and describedhim. He was a younger man than the other, of medium height, andpassably well dressed in a quiet lounge suit, green Alpine hat andbrown shoes. By the time the detective had reached his wavy chestnuthair, large and rather ragged moustache, and sandy, freckledcomplexion, the first man had completed his business and was leavingthe place.

"It isn't an exchange lay, at all events," said Mr. Carlyle. "Hisinner case is only half the size of the other and couldn't possibly besubstituted."

"Come up now," said Carrados, rising. "There is nothing more to belearned down here."

They requisitioned the lift, and on the steps outside the gigantickeyhole stood for a few minutes discussing an investment as a coupleof trustees or a lawyer and a client who were parting there might do.Fifty yards away, a very large silk hat with a very curly brim markedthe progress of the bookmaker towards Piccadilly.

The lift in the hall behind them swirled up again and the gateclashed. The second man walked leisurely out and sauntered awaywithout a backward glance.

"I am not Parkinson," retorted Mr. Carlyle, with asperity, "and,strictly as one dear friend to another, Max, permit me to add, thatwhile cherishing an unbounded admiration for your remarkable gifts, Ihave the strongest suspicion that the whole incident is a ridiculousmare's nest, bred in the fantastic imagination of an enthusiasticcriminologist."

Mr. Carrados received this outburst with the utmost benignity. "Comeand have a coffee, Louis," he suggested. "Mehmed's is only a streetaway."

Mehmed proved to be a cosmopolitan gentleman from Mocha whose shopresembled a house from the outside and an Oriental divan when one waswithin. A turbaned Arab placed cigarettes and cups of coffee spicedwith saffron before the customers, gave salaam and withdrew.

"You know, my dear chap," continued Mr. Carlyle, sipping his blackcoffee and wondering privately whether it was really very good or verybad, "speaking quite seriously, the one fishy detail--our gingerfriend's watching for the other to leave--may be open to a dozen veryinnocent explanations."

"So innocent that to-morrow I intend taking a safe myself."

"You think that everything is all right?"

"On the contrary, I am convinced that something is very wrong."

"Then why--?"

"I shall keep nothing there, but it will give me the _entree_. Ishould advise you, Louis, in the first place to empty your safe withall possible speed, and in the second to leave your business card onthe manager."

Mr. Carlyle pushed his cup away, convinced now that the coffee wasreally very bad.

"But, my dear Max, the place--'The Safe'--is impregnable!"

"When I was in the States, three years ago, the head porter at onehotel took pains to impress on me that the building was absolutelyfireproof. I at once had my things taken off to another hotel. Twoweeks later the first place was burnt out. It _was_ fireproof, Ibelieve, but of course the furniture and the fittings were not and thewalls gave way."

"And hide the key under the mat to be ready for the first arrival inthe morning," crowed Mr. Carlyle, in the same playful spirit. "Dearold chap! Well, let me tell you--"

"That force is out of the question. Quite so," admitted his friend.

"That simplifies the argument. Let us consider fraud. There again theprecautions are so rigid that many people pronounce the forms anuisance. I confess that I do not. I regard them as a means ofprotecting my own property and I cheerfully sign my name and give mypassword, which the manager compares with his record-book before hereleases the first lock of my safe. The signature is burned before myeyes in a sort of crucible there, the password is of my own choosingand is written only in a book that no one but the manager ever sees,and my key is the sole one in existence."

"No duplicate or master-key?"

"Neither. If a key is lost it takes a skilful mechanic half-a-day tocut his way in. Then you must remember that clients of a safe-depositare not multitudinous. All are known more or less by sight to theofficials there, and a stranger would receive close attention. Now,Max, by what combination of circumstances is a rogue to know mypassword, to be able to forge my signature, to possess himself of mykey, and to resemble me personally? And, finally, how is he possiblyto determine beforehand whether there is anything in my safe to repayso elaborate a plant?" Mr. Carlyle concluded in triumph and was socarried away by the strength of his position that he drank off thecontents of his second cup before he realized what he was doing.

"At the hotel I just spoke of," replied Carrados, "there was anattendant whose one duty in case of alarm was to secure three irondoors. On the night of the fire he had a bad attack of toothache andslipped away for just a quarter of an hour to have the thing out.There was a most up-to-date system of automatic fire alarm; it hadbeen tested only the day before and the electrician, finding some partnot absolutely to his satisfaction, had taken it away and not had timeto replace it. The night watchman, it turned out, had received leaveto present himself a couple of hours later on that particular night,and the hotel fireman, whose duties he took over, had missed beingnotified. Lastly, there was a big riverside blaze at the same time andall the engines were down at the other end of the city."

Mr. Carlyle committed himself to a dubious monosyllable. Carradosleaned forward a little.

"All these circumstances formed a coincidence of pure chance.Is it not conceivable, Louis, that an even more remarkable seriesmight be brought about by design?"

"Our tawny friend?"

"Possibly. Only he was not really tawny." Mr. Carlyle's easy attitudesuddenly stiffened into rigid attention. "He wore a false moustache."

"If only you would not trust your dear, blundering old eyes soimplicitly you would get nearer that limit yourself," retortedCarrados. "The man carried a five-yard aura of spirit gum, emphasizedby a warm, perspiring skin. That inevitably suggested one thing. Ilooked for further evidence of making-up and found it--thesepreparations all smell. The hair you described was characteristicallythat of a wig--worn long to hide the joining and made wavy to minimizethe length. All these things are trifles. As yet we have not gonebeyond the initial stage of suspicion. I will tell you another trifle.When this man retired to a compartment with his deed-box, he nevereven opened it. Possibly it contains a brick and a newspaper. He isonly watching."

"Watching the bookmaker."

"True, but it may go far wider than that. Everything points to a plotof careful elaboration. Still, if you are satisfied--"

"I am quite satisfied," replied Mr. Carlyle gallantly. "I regard 'TheSafe' almost as a national institution, and as such I have an implicitfaith in its precautions against every kind of force or fraud." So farMr. Carlyle's attitude had been suggestive of a rock, but at thispoint he took out his watch, hummed a little to pass the time,consulted his watch again, and continued: "I am afraid that there wereone or two papers which I overlooked. It would perhaps save me comingagain to-morrow if I went back now--"

For twenty minutes he sat there, drinking an occasional tiny cup ofboiled coffee and to all appearance placidly enjoying the quaintatmosphere which Mr. Mehmed had contrived to transplant from theshores of the Persian Gulf.

At the end of that period Carlyle returned, politely effusive aboutthe time he had kept his friend waiting but otherwise bland andunassailable. Anyone with eyes might have noticed that he carried aparcel of about the same size and dimensions as the deed-box thatfitted his safe.

The next day Carrados presented himself at the safe-deposit as anintending renter. The manager showed him over the vaults andstrong-rooms, explaining the various precautions taken to render theguile or force of man impotent: the strength of the chilled-steelwalls, the casing of electricity-resisting concrete, the stupendousisolation of the whole inner fabric on metal pillars so that thewatchman, while inside the building, could walk above, below, and allround the outer walls of what was really--although it bore no actualrelationship to the advertising device of the front--a monstrous safe;and, finally, the arrangement which would enable the basement to beflooded with steam within three minutes of an alarm. These detailswere public property. "The Safe" was a showplace and its directorsheld that no harm could come of displaying a strong hand.

Accompanied by the observant eyes of Parkinson, Carrados gave anadventurous but not a hopeful attention to these particulars.Submitting the problem of the tawny man to his own ingenuity, he wasconstantly putting before himself the question: How shall I set aboutrobbing this place? and he had already dismissed force asimpracticable. Nor, when it came to the consideration of fraud, didthe simple but effective safeguards which Mr. Carlyle had specifiedseem to offer any loophole.

"As I am blind I may as well sign in the book," he suggested, when themanager passed him a gummed slip for the purpose. The precautionagainst one acquiring particulars of another client might well bedeemed superfluous in his case.

But the manager did not fall into the trap.

"It is our invariable rule in all cases, sir," he replied courteously."What word will you take?" Parkinson, it may be said, had been left inthe hall.

"Suppose I happen to forget it? How do we proceed?"

"In that case I am afraid that I might have to trouble you toestablish your identity," the manager explained. "It rarely happens."

"Then we will say 'Conspiracy.'"

The word was written down and the book closed.

"Here is your key, sir. If you will allow me--your key-ring--"

A week went by and Carrados was no nearer the absolute solution of theproblem he had set himself. He had, indeed, evolved several ways bywhich the contents of the safes might be reached, some simple anddesperate, hanging on the razor-edge of chance to fall this way orthat; others more elaborate, safer on the whole, but more liable tobreak down at some point of their ingenious intricacy. And settingaside complicity on the part of the manager--a condition that Carradoshad satisfied himself did not exist--they all depended on a relaxationof the forms by which security was assured. Carrados continued to haveseveral occasions to visit the safe during the week, and he "watched"with a quiet persistence that was deadly in its scope. But frombeginning to end there was no indication of slackness in thebusiness-like methods of the place; nor during any of his visits didthe "tawny man" appear in that or any other disguise. Another weekpassed; Mr. Carlyle was becoming inexpressibly waggish, and Carradoshimself, although he did not abate a jot of his conviction, wascompelled to bend to the realities of the situation. The manager, withthe obstinacy of a conscientious man who had become obsessed with thepervading note of security, excused himself from discussing abstractmethods of fraud. Carrados was not in a position to formulate adetailed charge; he withdrew from active investigation, content toawait his time.

It came, to be precise, on a certain Friday morning, seventeen daysafter his first visit to "The Safe." Returning late on the Thursdaynight, he was informed that a man giving the name of Draycott hadcalled to see him. Apparently the matter had been of some importanceto the visitor for he had returned three hours later on the chance offinding Mr. Carrados in. Disappointed in this, he had left a note.Carrados cut open the envelope and ran a finger along the followingwords:--

"_Dear Sir_,--I have to-day consulted Mr. Louis Carlyle, who thinksthat you would like to see me. I will call again in the morning, sayat nine o'clock. If this is too soon or otherwise inconvenient Ientreat you to leave a message fixing as early an hour as possible.

"Yours faithfully,

"_Herbert Draycott_.

"_P.S._--I should add that I am the renter of a safe at the LucasStreet depository. _H.D._"

A description of Mr. Draycott made it clear that he was not theWest-End bookmaker. The caller, the servant explained, was a thin,wiry, keen-faced man. Carrados felt agreeably interested in thisdevelopment, which seemed to justify his suspicion of a plot.

At five minutes to nine the next morning Mr. Draycott again presentedhimself.

"Very good of you to see me so soon, sir," he apologized, on Carradosat once receiving him. "I don't know much of English ways--I'm anAustralian--and I was afraid it might be too early."

"You could have made it a couple of hours earlier as far as I amconcerned," replied Carrados. "Or you either for that matter, Iimagine," he added, "for I don't think that you slept much lastnight."

"I didn't sleep at all last night," corrected Mr. Draycott. "But it'sstrange that you should have seen that. I understood from Mr. Carlylethat you--excuse me if I am mistaken, sir--but I understood that youwere blind."

Carrados laughed his admission lightly.

"Oh yes," he said. "But never mind that. What is the trouble?"

"I'm afraid it means more than just trouble for me, Mr. Carrados." Theman had steady, half-closed eyes, with the suggestion of depth whichone notices in the eyes of those whose business it is to look out overgreat expanses of land or water; they were turned towards Carrados'sface with quiet resignation in their frankness now. "I'm afraid itspells disaster. I am a working engineer from the Mount Magdalenadistrict of Coolgardie. I don't want to take up your time with outsidedetails, so I will only say that about two years ago I had anopportunity of acquiring a share in a very promising claim--gold, youunderstand, both reef and alluvial. As the work went on I put more andmore into the undertaking--you couldn't call it a venture by thattime. The results were good, better than we had dared to expect, butfrom one cause and another the expenses were terrible. We saw that itwas a bigger thing than we had bargained for and we admitted that wemust get outside help."

So far Mr. Draycott's narrative had proceeded smoothly enough underthe influence of the quiet despair that had come over the man. But atthis point a sudden recollection of his position swept him into afrenzy of bitterness.

"Oh, what the blazes is the good of going over all this again!" hebroke out. "What can you or anyone else do anyhow? I've been robbed,rooked, cleared out of everything I possess," and tormented byrecollections and by the impotence of his rage the unfortunateengineer beat the oak table with the back of his hand until hisknuckles bled.

Carrados waited until the fury had passed.

"Continue, if you please, Mr. Draycott," he said. "Just what youthought it best to tell me is just what I want to know."

"I'm sorry, sir," apologized the man, colouring under his tanned skin."I ought to be able to control myself better. But this business hasshaken me. Three times last night I looked down the barrel of myrevolver, and three times I threw it away.... Well, we arranged that Ishould come to London to interest some financiers in the property. Wemight have done it locally or in Perth, to be sure, but then, don'tyou see, they would have wanted to get control. Six weeks ago I landedhere. I brought with me specimens of the quartz and good samples ofextracted gold, dust and nuggets, the clearing up of several weeks'working, about two hundred and forty ounces in all. That includes theMagdalena Lodestar, our lucky nugget, a lump weighing just under sevenpounds of pure gold.

"I had seen an advertisement of this Lucas Street safe-deposit and itseemed just the thing I wanted. Besides the gold, I had all the papersto do with the claims--plans, reports, receipts, licences and so on.Then when I cashed my letter of credit I had about one hundred andfifty pounds in notes. Of course I could have left everything at abank, but it was more convenient to have it, as it were, in my ownsafe, to get at any time, and to have a private room that I could takeany gentlemen to. I hadn't a suspicion that anything could be wrong.Negotiations hung on in several quarters--it's a bad time to dobusiness here, I find. Then, yesterday, I wanted something. I went toLucas Street, as I had done half-a-dozen times before, opened my safe,and had the inner case carried to a room.... Mr. Carrados, it wasempty!"

"Quite empty?"

"No." He laughed bitterly. "At the bottom was a sheet of wrapperpaper. I recognized it as a piece I had left there in case I wanted tomake up a parcel. But for that I should have been convinced that I hadsomehow opened the wrong safe. That was my first idea."

"It cannot be done."

"So I understand, sir. And, then, there was the paper with my namewritten on it in the empty tin. I was dazed; it seemed impossible. Ithink I stood there without moving for minutes--it was more likehours. Then I closed the tin box again, took it back, locked up thesafe and came out."

"Without notifying anything wrong?"

"Yes, Mr. Carrados." The steady blue eyes regarded him with painedthoughtfulness. "You see, I reckoned it out in that time that it mustbe someone about the place who had done it."

"You were wrong," said Carrados.

"So Mr. Carlyle seemed to think. I only knew that the key had neverbeen out of my possession and I had told no one of the password. Well,it did come over me rather like cold water down the neck, that therewas I alone in the strongest dungeon in London and not a living soulknew where I was."

"Possibly a sort of up-to-date Sweeney Todd's?"

"I'd heard of such things in London," admitted Draycott. "Anyway, Igot out. It was a mistake; I see it now. Who is to believe me as itis--it sounds a sort of unlikely tale. And how do they come to pick onme? to know what I had? I don't drink, or open my mouth, or hellround. It beats me."

"I have the numbers of the notes," he suggested, with an attempt athopefulness. "They can be stopped, I take it?"

"Stopped? Yes," admitted Carrados. "And what does that amount to? Thebanks and the police stations will be notified and every littlepublic-house between here and Land's End will change one for thescribbling of 'John Jones' across the back. No, Mr. Draycott, it'sawkward, I dare say, but you must make up your mind to wait until youcan get fresh supplies from home. Where are you staying?"

Draycott hesitated.

"I have been at the Abbotsford, in Bloomsbury, up to now," he said,with some embarrassment. "The fact is, Mr. Carrados, I think I oughtto have told you how I was placed before consulting you, because I--Isee no prospect of being able to pay my way. Knowing that I had plentyin the safe, I had run it rather close. I went chiefly yesterday toget some notes. I have a week's hotel bill in my pocket, and"--heglanced down at his trousers--"I've ordered one or two other thingsunfortunately."

"That will be a matter of time, doubtless," suggested the otherencouragingly.

Instead of replying Draycott suddenly dropped his arms on to the tableand buried his face between them. A minute passed in silence.

"It's no good, Mr. Carrados," he said, when he was able to speak. "Ican't meet it. Say what you like, I simply can't tell those chaps thatI've lost everything we had and ask them to send me more. Theycouldn't do it if I did. Understand sir. The mine is a valuable one;we have the greatest faith in it, but it has gone beyond our depth.The three of us have put everything we own into it. While I am herethey are doing labourers' work for a wage, just to keep going ...waiting, oh, my God! waiting for good news from me!"

Carrados walked round the table to his desk and wrote. Then, without aword, he held out a paper to his visitor.

"It will carry you on," explained Carrados imperturbably. "A man likeyou isn't going to throw up the sponge for this set-back. Cable toyour partners that you require copies of all the papers at once.They'll manage it, never fear. The gold ... must go. Write fully bythe next mail. Tell them everything and add that in spite of all youfeel that you are nearer success than ever."

Mr. Draycott folded the cheque with thoughtful deliberation and put itcarefully away in his pocket-book.

"I don't know whether you've guessed as much, sir," he said in a queervoice, "but I think that you've saved a man's life to-day. It's notthe money, it's the encouragement ... and faith. If you could seeyou'd know better than I can say how I feel about it."

Carrados laughed quietly. It always amused him to have people explainhow much more he would learn if he had eyes.

"Then we'll go on to Lucas Street and give the manager the shock ofhis life," was all he said. "Come, Mr. Draycott, I have already rungup the car."

But, as it happened, another instrument had been destined to applythat stimulating experience to the manager. As they stepped out of thecar opposite "The Safe" a taxicab drew up and Mr. Carlyle's alert andcheery voice hailed them.

"A moment, Max," he called, turning to settle with his driver, atransaction that he invested with an air of dignified urbanity whichalmost made up for any small pecuniary disappointment that may haveaccompanied it. "This is indeed fortunate. Let us compare notes for amoment. I have just received an almost imploring message from themanager to come at once. I assumed that it was the affair of ourcolonial friend here, but he went on to mention Professor HolmfastBulge. Can it really be possible that he also has made a similardiscovery?"

"What did the manager say?" asked Carrados.

"He was practically incoherent, but I really think it must be so. Whathave you done?"

"Nothing," replied Carrados. He turned his back on "The Safe" andappeared to be regarding the other side of the street. "There is atobacconist's shop directly opposite?"

"There is."

"What do they sell on the first floor?"

"Possibly they sell 'Rubbo.' I hazard the suggestion from the legend'Rub in Rubbo for Everything' which embellishes each window."

"The windows are frosted?"

"They are, to half-way up, mysterious man."

Carrados walked back to his motor-car.

"While we are away, Parkinson, go across and buy a tin, bottle, box orpacket of 'Rubbo.'"

"What is 'Rubbo,' Max?" chirped Mr. Carlyle with insatiablecuriosity.

"So far we do not know. When Parkinson gets some, Louis, you shall bethe one to try it."

They descended into the basement and were passed in by thegrille-keeper, whose manner betrayed a discreet consciousness ofsomething in the air. It was unnecessary to speculate why. In thedistance, muffled by the armoured passages, an authoritative voiceboomed like a sonorous bell heard under water.

"What, however, are the facts?" it was demanding, with the causticityof baffled helplessness. "I am assured that there is no other key inexistence; yet my safe has been unlocked. I am given to understandthat without the password it would be impossible for an unauthorizedperson to tamper with my property. My password, deliberately chosen,is 'anthropophaginian,' sir. Is it one that is familiarly on the lipsof the criminal classes? But my safe is empty! What is theexplanation? Who are the guilty persons? What is being done? Where arethe police?"

"If you consider that the proper course to adopt is to stand on thedoorstep and beckon in the first constable who happens to pass, permitme to say, sir, that I differ from you," retorted the distractedmanager. "You may rely on everything possible being done to clear upthe mystery. As I told you, I have already telephoned for a capableprivate detective and for one of my directors."

"But that is not enough," insisted the professor angrily. "Will onemere private detective restore my L6000 Japanese 4-1/2 per cent.bearer bonds? Is the return of my irreplaceable notes on 'PolyphyleticBridal Customs among the mid-Pleistocene Cave Men' to depend on asolitary director? I demand that the police shall be called in--asmany as are available. Let Scotland Yard be set in motion. A searchinginquiry must be made. I have only been a user of your preciousestablishment for six months, and this is the result."

"There you hold the key of the mystery, Professor Bulge," interposedCarrados quietly.

"I shall be thankful for any assistance towards elucidating thisappalling business," condescended the professor sonorously. "Let meput you in possession of the facts--"

"Perhaps if we went into your room," suggested Carrados to themanager, "we should be less liable to interruption."

"Quite so; quite so," boomed the professor, accepting the proposal oneveryone else's behalf. "The facts, sir, are these: I am theunfortunate possessor of a safe here, in which, a few months ago, Ideposited--among less important matter--sixty bearer bonds of theJapanese Imperial Loan--the bulk of my small fortune--and themanuscript of an important projected work on 'Polyphyletic BridalCustoms among the mid-Pleistocene Cave Men.' Today I came to detachthe coupons which fall due on the fifteenth; to pay them into my banka week in advance, in accordance with my custom. What do I find? Ifind the safe locked and apparently intact, as when I last saw it amonth ago. But it is far from being intact, sir! It has been opened,ransacked, cleared out! Not a single bond, not a scrap of paperremains."

It was obvious that the manager's temperature had been rising duringthe latter part of this speech and now he boiled over.

"Pardon my flatly contradicting you, Professor Bulge. You have againreferred to your visit here a month ago as your last. You will bearwitness of that, gentlemen. When I inform you that the professor hadaccess to his safe as recently as on Monday last you will recognizethe importance that the statement may assume."

The professor glared across the room like an infuriated animal, acomparison heightened by his notoriously hircine appearance.

"How dare you contradict me, sir!" he cried, slapping the tablesharply with his open hand. "I was not here on Monday."

The manager shrugged his shoulders coldly.

"You forget that the attendants also saw you," he remarked. "Cannot wetrust our own eyes?"

"These are just the striking points that are most easilycounterfeited. They 'take the eye.' If you would ensure yourselfagainst deception, learn rather to observe the eye itself, andparticularly the spots on it, the shape of the finger-nails, the setof the ears. These things cannot be simulated."

"You seriously suggest that the man was not Professor Bulge--that hewas an impostor?"

"The conclusion is inevitable. Where were you on Monday, Professor?"

"I was on a short lecturing tour in the Midlands. On Saturday I was inNottingham. On Monday in Birmingham. I did not return to London untilyesterday."

Carrados turned to the manager again and indicated Draycott, who sofar had remained in the background.

"And this gentleman? Did he by any chance come here on Monday?"

"He did not, Mr. Carrados. But I gave him access to his safe onTuesday afternoon and again yesterday."

Draycott shook his head sadly.

"Yesterday I found it empty," he said. "And all Tuesday afternoon Iwas at Brighton, trying to see a gentleman on business."

The manager sat down very suddenly.

"Good God, another!" he exclaimed faintly.

"I am afraid the list is only beginning," said Carrados. "We must gothrough your renters' book."

The manager roused himself to protest.

"That cannot be done. No one but myself or my deputy ever sees thebook. It would be--unprecedented."

"The circumstances are unprecedented," replied Carrados.

"If any difficulties are placed in the way of these gentlemen'sinvestigations, I shall make it my duty to bring the facts before theHome Secretary," announced the professor, speaking up to the ceilingwith the voice of a brazen trumpet.

Carrados raised a deprecating hand.

"May I make a suggestion?" he remarked. "Now, I am blind. If,therefore--?"

"Very well," acquiesced the manager. "But I must request the others towithdraw."

For five minutes Carrados followed the list of safe-renters as themanager read them to him. Sometimes he stopped the catalogue toreflect a moment; now and then he brushed a finger-tip over a writtensignature and compared it with another. Occasionally a passwordinterested him. But when the list came to an end he continued to lookinto space without any sign of enlightenment.

"So much is perfectly clear and yet so much is incredible," he mused."You insist that you alone have been in charge for the last sixmonths?"

"I have not been away a day this year."

"Meals?"

"I have my lunch sent in."

"And this room could not be entered without your knowledge while youwere about the place?"

"It is impossible. The door is fitted with a powerful spring and afeather-touch self-acting lock. It cannot be left unlocked unless youdeliberately prop it open."

"And, with your knowledge, no one has had an opportunity of havingaccess to this book?"

"No," was the reply.

Carrados stood up and began to put on his gloves.

"Then I must decline to pursue my investigation any further," he saidicily.

"Why?" stammered the manager.

"Because I have positive reason for believing that you are deceivingme."

"Pray sit down, Mr. Carrados. It is quite true that when you put thelast question to me a circumstance rushed into my mind which--so faras the strict letter was concerned--might seem to demand 'Yes' insteadof 'No.' But not in the spirit of your inquiry. It would be absurd toattach any importance to the incident I refer to."

"That would be for me to judge."

"You shall do so, Mr. Carrados. I live at Windermere Mansions with mysister. A few months ago she got to know a married couple who hadrecently come to the opposite flat. The husband was a middle-aged,scholarly man who spent most of his time in the British Museum. Hiswife's tastes were different; she was much younger, brighter, gayer; amere girl in fact, one of the most charming and unaffected I have evermet. My sister Amelia does not readily--"

"Stop!" exclaimed Carrados. "A studious middle-aged man and a charmingyoung wife! Be as brief as possible. If there is any chance it mayturn on a matter of minutes at the ports. She came here, of course?"

"Accompanied by her husband," replied the manager stiffly. "Mrs. Scotthad travelled and she had a hobby of taking photographs wherever shewent. When my position accidentally came out one evening she wascarried away by the novel idea of adding views of a safe deposit toher collection--as enthusiastic as a child. There was no reason whyshe should not; the place has often been taken for advertisingpurposes."

"She came, and brought her camera--under your very nose!"

"I do not know what you mean by 'under my very nose.' She came withher husband one evening just about closing time. She brought hercamera, of course--quite a small affair."

"And contrived to be in here alone?"

"I take exception to the word 'contrived.' It--it happened. I sent outfor some tea, and in the course--"

"How long was she alone in here?"

"Two or three minutes at the most. When I returned she was seated atmy desk. That was what I referred to. The little rogue had put on myglasses and had got hold of a big book. We were great chums, and shedelighted to mock me. I confess that I was startled--merelyinstinctively--to see that she had taken up this book, but the nextmoment I saw that she had it upside down."

"Clever! She couldn't get it away in time. And the camera, withhalf-a-dozen of its specially sensitized films already snapped overthe last few pages, by her side!"

"That child!"

"Yes. She is twenty-seven and has kicked hats off tall men's heads inevery capital from Petersburg to Buenos Ayres! Get through to ScotlandYard and ask if Inspector Beedel can come up."

The manager breathed heavily through his nose.

"To call in the police and publish everything would ruin thisestablishment--confidence would be gone. I cannot do it withoutfurther authority."

"Then the professor certainly will."

"Before you came I rang up the only director who is at present in townand gave him the facts as they then stood. Possibly he has arrived bythis. If you will accompany me to the boardroom we will see."

They went up to the floor above, Mr. Carlyle joining them on the way.

"Excuse me a moment," said the manager.

Parkinson, who had been having an improving conversation with the hallporter on the subject of land values, approached.

"I am sorry, sir," he reported, "but I was unable to procure any'Rubbo.' The place appears to be shut up."

"That is a pity; Mr. Carlyle had set his heart on it."

"Will you come this way, please?" said the manager, reappearing.

In the boardroom they found a white-haired old gentleman who hadobeyed the manager's behest from a sense of duty, and then remained ina distant corner of the empty room in the hope that he might beover-looked. He was amiably helpless and appeared to be deeply awareof it.

"This is a very sad business, gentlemen," he said, in a whispering,confiding voice. "I am informed that you recommend calling in theScotland Yard authorities. That would be a disastrous course for aninstitution that depends on the implicit confidence of the public."

"It is the only course," replied Carrados.

"The name of Mr. Carrados is well known to us in connection with adelicate case. Could you not carry this one through?"

"It is impossible. A wide inquiry must be made. Every port will haveto be watched. The police alone can do that." He threw a littlesignificance into the next sentence. "I alone can put the police inthe right way of doing it."

"And you will do that, Mr. Carrados?"

Carrados smiled engagingly. He knew exactly what constituted the greatattraction of his services.

"My position is this," he explained. "So far my work has been entirelyamateur. In that capacity I have averted one or two crimes, remediedan occasional injustice, and now and then been of service to myprofessional friend, Louis Carlyle. But there is no reason at all whyI should serve a commercial firm in an ordinary affair of business fornothing. For any information I should require a fee, a quite nominalfee of, say, one hundred pounds."

The director looked as though his faith in human nature had received arude blow.

"A hundred pounds would be a very large initial fee for a small firmlike this, Mr. Carrados," he remarked in a pained voice.

"And that, of course, would be independent of Mr. Carlyle'sprofessional charges," added Carrados.